Perspectives of Conflicts
by Marine is hope2
Summary: It was only in his dreams that America allowed for himself to glance back at the times that had passed him by. The only reason that he had won any of those conflicts was because of those children...


Disclaimer: I do not own the work called Hetalia... DX

* * *

The fire crackles and Alfred F. Jones gives a mighty yawn as he shuffles in a discreet way so that he manages not to wake Alaska, who is curled upon his lap.

He can't keep the smile from alighting his features in a small smile as he looks around the room at all his 'siblings'. The states are all nearly sleeping, causing their chests to fall in even rises and falls.

He closes his eyes, wondering just how he managed to find such a strange but all together well-placed family.

His mind cannot help but to drift off in to subconscious.

~.~.~0~.~.~

America looked out, out upon the purple hills and golden fields of grain, then to the green ocean. Such a strong sense of loneliness consumed him.

When was he coming back?

He rubbed at his stinging eyes, attempting to rid himself of the tears that were so close to freely cascading down his cheeks. He was a big boy: England had told him so. He could take care of himself. Yeah, he was a hero after all! And heroes never, ever, ever cried.

Suddenly a soft sniffling reached his ears and he turned around toward the sound. A few paces behind him, there was a small child, a few years younger than he, her large blue eyes filling with unstoppable tears. He frowned: he didn't know that Jamestown had had any children that matched this description. After all, it was still a super new colony. He walked over to the toddler and gave her a flash of that big, goofy grin that always made Arthur laugh.

"Hi, what's wrong? What's your name? Where are your parents?" The girl blinked and attempted to rid herself of the tears, though all that her pursuits gave her were a bad case of the hiccups. This caused another fresh round of crying as she whimpered something along the lines of, "I'm all alone."

America looked down at this youth and a strange sense of protectiveness came upon him. After all, the hero should always try to help the weak. He took the little girl's hand and took off running toward his house. He found out later that her name was Virginia.

More colonies came into being and as long as they lasted for a period of time, another little sister or brother would find a place in America's old farmhouse.

By the time that England returned to visit America, a crew of thirteen children plus Alfred came to meet him at the doorway.

~.~.~0~.~.~

Vermont grumbled a curse as she reached down for the powder keg and ammunition pouch. She lit the fuse and blew. It hit its target with near perfect aim. The sounds of battle surrounded her, drumming in her young ears.

"New York! Get DOWN!" Her cry resounded over the call of trumpets and boom of cannons. The once-French colony did as he was told and her rain of ammunition came over his head. The former Native-American girl shot again at both Frenchmen and Native Americans and her lips curled into a snarl of anger as well as a frown of sadness. She could only guess how Alfred felt about this.

~.~.~0~.~.~

The people were rallying: Alfred could feel the boiling in his blood as he talked to Arthur. His big brother… his protector, how he was going to fight against him?

~.~.~0~.~.~

Massachusetts ran through the street, watching in horror at her people being shot at like… like… _dogs._ She looked on from the back with hate glowing in her eyes as she watched Arthur yell, either at his men to stop or to continue. She didn't care. With her brow furrowed she ran to get Samuel Maverick into a place where she could halt the bleeding. Only after the gunshots halted in the night did she realize that she was shaking with emotional exhaustion. This was too much. First all the taxation and now this. Her hands clinched into white-knuckled fists.

That furry-browed lobster was going to pay.

That was the only thought that she had when she had dressed as a man and leaped aboard the _Dartmouth_, _Eleanor_ and the _Beaver _and dumped 342 chests of earl gray and chive tea into the Boston harbor.

~.~.~0~.~.~

The original thirteen watched on in the pouring rain as that once-mighty nation fell to his knees in front of his former colony. The children listened to his choked sobbing with stern faces.

France did not know how they did it, neither did Spain. Both men could only wonder if the scene that was being played before them would be repeated every time that a colony declared independence.

Would they too have to face that sorrow that England was now facing?

America turned away from his former brother and looked at the young eyes that looked up at him, all of them gleaming with a loyalty that he did not remember ever giving to Britain.

As America began to walk away the children followed him, all filing into a line beside him. Not behind him, _beside _him. They were all equal here.

He would never forget that fierce fire that shown in his younger siblings eyes as they left the battleground. They were a country united. The United States.

The chant that he had been telling himself for the past eight years still rang in his head: _Give me liberty or give me death._

~.~.~0~.~.~

Texas ran toward the wall of Mexico City. His green eyes were wild with adrenaline and his auburn hair was ascue. He didn't seem to notice. America was on his left side, giving his men orders. California and New Mexico were on his right. The first had her long blond tress pinned up in a straw cap and ran with a stride that matched any of the soldiers.

Texas smiled: it was amazing how fast that girl could turn from being a proper lady to being the all out bane of Santa Ana.

New Mexico was firing his gun with unnerving accuracy, his dark charcoal hair swaying over his glasses as he ran.

The trio followed their leader into the surging mass that was over-whelming the Mexican forces.

It was then that Texas realized, as the sun shined on his face and the wind blew in his hair as he raced through the throngs of soldiers, he was just beginning the power struggle of life... and war.

~.~.~0~.~.~

America watched on with his normally giddy blue eyes clouded a startling gray. He looked out upon the ocean and in the far off distance he could see Charleston.

A boat was making its way toward the legendary Fort Sumter, America could see that all too familiar blond head of Emily "South Carolina" Jones. She stared up at him with a defiance that he knew must have been in his eyes when he faced off with England.

He closed his eyes and whiped away at the stubborn drops of water that wanted to free themselves from his eyes as he went to formally greet the girl.

"I can't surrender Emily, please, accept that." Blue eyes pleaded into blue eyes.

_You are just trying to keep your way of life...I understand that but, please..._

For a moment it seemed as though South Carolina debated her decision, though she shook the thoughts out of her head and glared at the man before her.

"Then you will die." Those words peirced his heart like the bullet wounds that he had nearly emptied into England's in their last fight over the New World.

As cannons rang and hit the brick structure of the fort America made a promise to himself that he would never ever again joke about the pain that Britian must have gone through during the war.

Now _he_ was the one that was being torn in two.

~.~.~0~.~.~

America looked down at the group of teens that were attempting to stand but had no strength to do so.

The woods of Saylers Creek embraced them from all directions and the Union soldier's surrounding the area whooped and hollered in glee. Though not Alfred F. Jones.

Instead he gazed down, down at the kids that he had raised in his own house and fed by his own two hands. Bending down he caught each of the eleven teens eyes. From the once untamable green irises of Texas could only stare steadily at the ground to the brown orbs of Georgia that glanced around, looking at her companions, unsure of what to do now.

They all were thin and were all suffering from malnutrition. America... no Alfred was scared that they would all break if he attempted to do anything.

For just a moment he saw the toddlers and children that he had found, raised, and in many cases, fought for.

There was a shuffle to his right he saw West Virginia coming towards the group. The boy who had split from his own sister in order to join _him _in the fight for freedom and what he thought to be justice.

The lad just gazed down at his older sister and after a moment of hesitation, he swooped down and threw his bony arms around her gaunt frame.

She could only stand there: she was too stunned to speak. But after a slight falter she returned the embrace.

The others didn't even bother to hide their tears of relief as Alfred wrapped his arms around them all. His glasses were fogging, though for the first time, he did not care.

~.~.~0~.~.~

America's blood was boiling.

He walked down the White House, his hands still clutching the letter from Cuba_. The Maine had sunk_.

The people were rallying for war... he was ready to get down on his knees and beg President McKinley to allow for him to go and personally pummel that Spanish_ Bastard. _

No one deserved to be under the control of another. Every single person deserved freedom.

And if he was the god damning_ hero _that he said that he was, he would help his tropical neighbor gain the independence.

He was America land of the _free_.

He opened the door to the congress' room and watched on as the vote for war took its voice.

~.~.~0~.~.~

America shuffled uncomfortably in the stiff suit that he had been forced to wear. He only achieved obtaining the critical eye of England and he soon sunk back into his chair. He wasn't the only one that seemed extremely uncomfortable with the way that things were going.

Porto Rico was shaking her head debating with Cuba in heated Spanish.

They were going to become America's annexes. He hadn't exactly wanted that... had he?

He had wanted freedom for his neighbors... right? He shook his head, giving a low chuckle: of course he wanted them to have freedom, but now this was an added benefit.

He just had to continue to keep telling himself that.

Spain came over to him. He was struck by how ill and tired the once-empire looked. Though still the other man gave him a shaky smile.

"America... _mi amigo_... may I have a word?" The blond nodded though the other man was not looking at him anymore. Spain caught the eyes of Florida and Texas and his smile wavered.

He turned away and made a discreet motion towards his eyes to wipe away what seemed to be a stray tear.

"America... you will take my position as a superpower." It wasn't a request.

Alfred looked through the doorway at where New Mexico and California had joined their two siblings. They all were listening intently.

~.~.~0~.~.~

America clinched his hands together and looked out at all of the teenage faces that surrounded him. For once there was no arguments, no ideal side chatter, nothing. Just like in the room a few doors down the mood was solemn and the anger that raced through the blood of the states was making America's head spin.

"All in favor." The magority of the hands went up. Alfred looked around glancing around at the varity of faces: from the soil-colored skin of Utah to the pale skin and violet eyes of the young Alaska. They all had one similarity that gathered them together into one united mass.

_It's time to go to war. _

_~.~.~0~.~.~_

New York glared out of his russet hued locks out of the trenches and on to the deserted battlefield.

The personification of France was by his side. Though the boy was rugged and tired, all of his whims seemed to be nothing when compared to the other man: France's once silky blond hair was oily and had been thrown together in a hasty bun in order to keep it out of the man's eyes. His blue eyes were now only reflecting pools of gray.

When were the others coming?

"Oi!" He called out, and yanked the Frenchman back to the ground when the other stumbled back in order to reload his gun.

"Merci."

"We're even now." Francis cocked his head to one side, his eyes inquisitive.

"What do you mean?"

New York could only think of the mutilated bodies of the Frenchmen and Natives that he and his siblings had shot down in the Seven Year War. He gave a shutter and resumed his firing at the small specks in the distance that he could only hope to be enemies.

_Where was America? _

~.~.~0~.~.~

Alfred jerks awake and looks about the room, his blue eyes attempting to focus on the dark shapes that he realizes to be the states. Massachusetts has her head resting on the back of New York's wheelchair (A trait that he gained on 9/11). North and South Dakota are snoring lightly instead of their normal bickering. All is quiet.

America glances outside and wraps the blanket around his shoulders, in order to keep the chill of the December air away.

It was all but a dream... it was only a dream.

Still he shivers, thankful that he hasn't gone on to the normal trend of dreaming about the second war. The war that managed to minimize it's predecessor into an almost forgotten past in most history books.

Not matter how he looks at it it was always the same.

World War Two still terrorizes his dreams.

* * *

Whew... done with part one.

For the second part it is going to mostly focus on World War II and such...

I have really no idea from where this idea came from. Probably had something to do with the awesome fanfiction that I am reading that is about the Revolutionary War with Alfred and the States.

Now all of these scenes were based off of real battles in the wars that America has fought in before World War II, which will most likely get its own chapter.

The first battle scene was mostly just my redition of the Seven Years War.

Then they go on to describe specific battles from the Revolutionary War, the Mexican-American War, The Civil War, the Spanish-American War, and World War I. I'll give a cookie to anyone who can guess where some of the battles took place. :)

Anyway, please review.

Marine XD


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